Millionaire’s shortbread

“To be honest, they are a little bit sweet to have all to yourself,” remarks Antonella at Rabot 1745, lifting a wedge of creamy shortbread topped with golden, oozing caramel and a slab of 65 per cent cocoa chocolate, and placing it into a paper bag. “You might want to share it?”

It’s like Chris Tarrant asking who’ll be getting a piece of our booty: indeed, we can almost hear the signature jingle and amplified heartbeats of his iconic quiz show. It’s a millionaire’s shortbread. It’s not a philanthropist’s shortbread. Excess is in the title. You don’t need a million quid, but those lucky winners take it and rarely mention sharing. Likewise, you don’t need your own silkily smooth, Borough-made, St Lucian-grown chocolate on a deep, squidgy-then-soft bed of caramel and biscuit. You want it. And when you want it, you want the whole thing.

There is one caveat to this. You cannot have a hot chocolate AND a millionaire’s shortbread. You can try, but even Willy Wonka would balk at that much excess. “If you do want hot chocolate, I’d have our 100 per cent hot chocolate,” says Antonella—a dark, dark, bitter number—or a coffee: the perfect foil to this onslaught of sweet.

Fat free? Sugar free? You’ll have to look elsewhere. “It is everything that is forbidden,” she continues, gazing at the rich pile of opulence—then adds, grinning: “It is everything you want in a treat.”